Awful collocations
by Nikkitosa
Summary: One-shot that includes the infamous Tony Stark and his exceptionally skillful tongue going wild.


**Okay, so I got inspired to write about Iron Man by some godly power. Or it was the wonderful prompt I found on Tumblr? Hmm... anyway, feel free to tell me whether you'd enjoy more one-shots like this one!**

 **~ Nikkitosa**

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"Anthony, I swear to God that if you do not stop throwing nasty pick-up lines at me, I'll pull that tongue straight out of your mouth!" hissing in a minacious manner, your usually sparkling eyes are now a few shades darker and narrowed into slits.

In Tony Stark's mind immediately pops up the image of a huge coiled rattle snake, with its tail giving the characteristic warning jingle. Its bifurcated tongue darts out from between two razor sharp fangs and the following hiss resonates in the back of his mind like a bad omen. Knowing how temperament you can get when pushed beyond limits and that it usually results in a physical violence of the highest magnitudes, Tony flashes you his oh-so-famous smirk and against all logical reason throws another jumble of words at you, once again not saving the various lustful epithets to himself. With a snarl you grab the nearest object and hurl it towards the playboy's head.

"Now, now! Such violence is uncalled for!"

By the sight of his eyes narrowing in a challenging manner and the appearance of a mischievous gleam in his caramel eyes, you growl and grit your teeth. For someone who claimed he had a lot of work on his hands, Tony's mouth is like a chatterbox – trying to stop it from opening is futile. And while you enjoy the sound of his voice, the fact that he has been drowning you with awful pick-up lines he heard God knows from where makes you want to cuss at him in the most vile way known to mankind. Instead, with a decent self-control and inner pep talk, you manage to sooth down the burning storm that's raging within and return to the task at hand. Unfortunately the word fuses that should have never been collocated, despite utterly disgusting the rational part of you and more than often making you snort, have also managed to kindle a strange desire in your lower regions, making you question your sanity.

"I'll hang you on your voluble tongue, Anthony Edward Stark, and I will enjoy your dying squeals!"

Yet obviously unfazed by the threat, the genius of a man continues nudging at his Iron Man suit, fixing a resent damage – something about air-compressors and stuff. Having known him for a considerable amount of time, you are aware that while his hands may be occupied with a different task, his mind is still spinning the wheels of mischief, if only to see whether he can make you snap. 'Does he find sick joy in tormenting me?' If it wasn't that you had actual work that needed _actual_ devotion, and just as unfortunately – his expert advice and assistance, you'd have left his sorry ass in the lab and resumed writing the paper somewhere, _anywhere_ , else. Yet Faith obviously finds it fun to watch you cringle as words, never meant to be lapsed together, exit your boyfriend's mouth. Tony's snicker, slightly demonic and filled with mischief, snaps you out of your thoughts.

"If your next sentence even slightly implies something about yours or my genitals, I swear I'm gonna call Bruce and ask him to Hulk out on you." despite your voice keeping an even and impassive tune as your head is still bend over the scattered pieces of paper, the steel edge in it doesn't stay unnoticed by the male, as he seems to rethink his decision of sharing another atrocious jangle of words.

"You are no fun, Y/N!" giving you a childish pout, Stark proceeds to brief you in with his newest cook-and-bull story, making you roll your eyes.

"Unless you manage to think of a more appealing occupation for that tongue of yours, Anthony, I'll definitely cut it off."

Continuing to write the paper, you vaguely register his chuckle, soon followed by the clang of metal as his suit is most probably ready. 'Finally! He'll let me write in peace!' Yet the joy that swirls in you is rather short-lived.

Suddenly something towers over you, casting shadows and preventing you from finalizing your work. Looking up, ready to give the pestering grown child an earful, you are left dumbstruck when instead of Tony's body, a larger one looms over. One made of anything but human skin and bone. The Iron Man suit stands before you, the hands crossed over the chest, and peers down at you with a slightly worrying expression. 'Technically the mask prevents such option, due to its inability to change into different expressions.' the rational part of your mind butts in. You only have time to frown before all the papers, pens and other crucially important for your work things are wiped from the surface of the desk with a single smooth motion and now lay scattered over the floor. After finally able to pull your gaping mouth shut, you shoot up, ready to mete out justice or better yet- get straight to the penalty as your temper finally gets the best of you. Yet once again before any reaction, vocal or physical takes place, the same strong robotic hands that swiped at your pedantically ordered desk now hoist you up, sit you on top of it and move around to stand behind your back. Sitting on the hard surface you have exactly a second to figure out what is happening before a sudden pressure gets applied on your hands and you are pulled flush against the cold chest of the suit. Shaking off the initial shock, as everything happened too fast for you to process it, you throw a tantrum. Various offensive words leave your lips as you trash under the unbuckling hold of the robot, demanding to be released immediately so that you can kick Tony's sorry ass and then make sure to take apart the damn suit piece by piece whereupon you can beat the daylight out of the male with it. Dismissing your disapproval, Stark walks to your struggling form with the stride of a predator that's about to have a feast.

"If I recall, you asked that I find more… how did you phrase it? Ah, yes, _appealing occupation_ for my tongue. I might just have thought of one."

If the wolfish grin after those implications didn't make your insides clench, then the tightening of the hold over your upper body by the suit definitely gets your heart racing.

"Anthony, I swear that if you do not release me at this very instance - " your infuriated hissing is cut short once said male comes to stand before you, his hands placed on your legs.

"C'mon now, Y/N! You insisted. And I oblige." the sparks that appear in his eyes don't stay unnoticed, yet you keep on trashing around as much as possible.

"I will not allow you to -" once again your tirade is cut short, this time by the ripping of your leggings.

Suddenly finding yourself in your underwear, sat upon a desk in Tony's lab with the Iron Man suit holding you down, your vocal abilities betray you yet once again. So instead you opt for hissing and kicking as much as possible, as Stark's grip over your pressed together legs is just as unyielding as the one of his suit.

"If you do this to me, I'll kill you!" once again resembling an enraged snake in his mind, Tony barely contains a groan – your feisty nature never ceases to arouse him in the most unusual and usually improper moments.

"Relax, Y/N." purring like a cat, he runs his hands up and down your creamy legs, trying to coax you to open them up for him. "You have wonderful legs. When do they open?"

Immediately catching the cross-reference from one of the _Fast and Furious_ movies, you'd have chuckled wasn't it for the ridiculous situation.

"I can't believe you are doing this to me, Stark. I'll pour rat poison in your whiskey and leave you to die a slow and painful death. And only when in your dying breath you confess what an ass you are, I'll probably think about calling an ambulance."

He laughs and once again caresses your legs with adoration.

"Should I use force, love?" his nails gently scratch the skin, making a shudder run down your spine.

It's stupid and impractical to feel aroused by this – pinned to a desk by a robot in a place where anyone can enter at any time and inevitably see you with your legs spread wide and Tony's mouth finally inuring to some benefit. Sensing that you're about to cave in, your boyfriend leans down and nibbles at your neck, knowing perfectly well how that affects you – in no time you'll be a liquefied mess under his hands.

"Loosen up, Y/N." this time when he tries to part your legs he succeeds, even if just a little.

"If someone enters…" you begin, but the grazing of his teeth over the sensitive flesh of your collarbone has you shuddering and forgetting what exactly you wanted to say.

"They'll turn around and leave." his words ghost over your neck.

You don't know what led to your eventual demise – the way he set flames to the skin of your neck and chest area with his teeth, tongue and stubble; the fact that half of your body is completely immobilised and leaves the lingering sensation of being submitted (hell will freeze over before you admit to the notoriously proud male that such display of dominance arouses you) or how his fingers trace the insides of your legs, successfully getting you to not only relax but also open them wider. 'All three, most probably.' once again your rational self tries to kick in, to make you recoil from this madness and later on find a way to make Tony sorry, yet it is a voice in the ears of the deaf. The more his lips trail all over your neck, his stubble tickling you, the wetter you get – it's like a chemical reaction takes place whenever his hands end up on you. And as irritating as it can be, you have absolutely no control over it.

"Open your legs for me, Y/N." the husky tone of Tony's voice works like a spell and unknowingly your legs part ever so slightly, yet enough for his hands to have more place to tease. "That's it."

Kissing his way around whatever patch of skin he can find, the male successfully makes your pestering self-consciousness back away, allowing the wilder and more liberated part to step in. And just for a precaution, as if the wetness between your legs and the soft gasps aren't enough to convince him, he bites the place where your neck meets the shoulder, making a low moan skip past your lips.

"I love how responsive you are, love." his hot breath fans over the now pulsating place, sending goosebumps all over your traitorous body.

"How sensitive you get." his teeth graze over your collarbones, making another low moan resonate in the room as you arch your back.

"Your vocal talents." you'd have chuckled if at this very moment one of his hands hadn't sneaked between your parted legs only to cup your heated centre.

Breathing in sharply at the sudden contact, the moan that vibrates in the back of your throat gets muffled by Tony's lips clashing with yours. His tactic is good; keeping your mouth occupied will guarantee no one will come storming into the lab, led by the sounds of unusual physical activity. His skilful fingers, hardened by work, now tease you through the underwear with soft, almost feathery-like strokes. The double attack on your senses leaves you dizzy and disorientated – true to what he said, you are really responsive and even the softest cares can get a vocal approval from you. As your tongue battles his for dominance, with a painful adequacy you realise you are still pinned against the chest of the suit, its unyielding hold around your middle and hands pressed to your sides leaving you uncomfortably yet thrillingly immobile.

"Oh, and how wet you get for me. Have I mentioned how arousing that is?" cracking your eyes open, you look at his eyes, darkened by lust and primal need to have you. Here. Now.

'To hell with prejudice!' the other part of you, the crazy and mentally not so stable one snickers and rubs her hands conspiratorially. Leaning forward, you capture the scientist's lips with yours in yet another passionate kiss, bathing in the way he seems to be finding it hard to keep his breath even. Obviously sensing your glee at his caving in, his fingers that up until now were tracing lazy circles around your centre, attack. With a single fluent movement he pushes to the side your underwear and teases your clitoris with his thumb. The dragged moan that would have resonated throughout the room like wail of a siren gets muffled by his tongue and you are left trembling and trashing once again. The movements of his finger are merciless, fast and precise, making you soon feel your body spasm with the upcoming orgasm. Tony's mouth once again attacks your neck, delighted by your small moans and gasps, as you fight an unfair battle against your primal need to express how much you enjoy his touch.

The only thing stopping you from grabbing him by the T-shirt and dragging him to the closest bedroom is the Iron Man suit that's still holding you down, the cold steel doing strange things to your overheated skin.

The thumb that up until now was teasing the bundle of nerves suddenly disappears only for a finger to enter you in a single thrust. Gritting your teeth and arching your back as much as possible, you bite back the loud moans and groans that would have filled the lab. As if reading the intensions behind this restriction and deciding they're unworthy, the finger that pumps slowly in and out of your dripping sex now sets a faster pace, every once in a while curling inside of you. It appears each and every move Tony makes holds the sole purpose of making you cry out, moan loud and generally draw attention to you two.

"Anthony!" you pant, while fighting the instinct to try and pull him closer, purely because it proves to be impossible at present. "S-stop teasing me!"

"I love it when you use my full name. No one but you does. You make it sound so erotic, so sensual." as if not having heard what you said, he continues his fast pace while his mouth ravages your neck, leaving hickeys in its way. "Have I told you I get hard simply by hearing you say it? It gets me ready every single time."

The flexing of now two fingers in your core gets you biting into your lip vigorously and further arching your back, your body not sure whether it wants to pull away or drag him closer.

"For fuck's sake, Anthony!" is all you manage to hiss before his lips attack yours once again, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip.

The movement is carefully planned as the second you can no longer speak, his fingers start thrusting deeper and harder into you, his thumb resuming rubbing at your clitoris. The overflowing sensation makes you trash around, the nearing orgasm having you at the brim of tears.

And that's when a knock on the door follows.

An eerie silence settles in the room as you literally freeze, all your enthusiasm and arousal disappearing and making place for cold fright and horror. On the other hand, Tony seems mildly annoyed by the disturbance and pulls away. Sort of.

"What?" he shouts, making it known that whoever is on the other side of the door is not welcomed inside.

"I have that test result you wanted." Bruce's voice comes from the other side and you barely stop yourself from shrieking.

Having sensed how tense you got in the span of a few seconds, Stark continues moving his fingers in and out of you, setting a more normal pace, all the meanwhile keeping your whole body trembling. And you hate it – how despite your brain shouting at you to stop, to move away, to not feel so damn aroused at the thought of getting caught, your body completely obliges to your boyfriend's whims. You'd have shouted in despair wasn't it for Dr Banner's presence on the other side of the door.

"Leave them in my office. I'm busy now." the bastard doesn't even have the decency to sound even mildly affected by what's going on.

His posture is serious as he eyes the door with a stern look, as if forbidding it to open; his voice is even and controlled, not letting out what's actually happening. And his cursed fingers! They move soundlessly in and out of your now slick entrance, picking up speed and making you hold your breath in favour of not panting or worse, moaning.

"I hate you!" you mouth at Stark as soon as he graces you with his attention once again.

The response is a cheeky grin and a harsher thrust of his fingers, which makes you arch your back like a bow and rest the back of your head against the cool surface of the suit. For once since all this began, you are glad it is here, holding you upright. If it wasn't for its solid presence you'd have fallen over the desk like a sloppy kitten long ago.

Fingering you faster, all the meanwhile continuing the conversation with Bruce, Tony doesn't miss an opportunity to lean in and bite at your neck, making you chew at your bottom lip harder until there's blood trickling down your chin. Their conversation is completely lost to your ears as your main goal right now is to come. As if on cue, another finger enters you with ease, stretching your walls and eliciting a small moan from your swollen lips.

It's unbearable – your body is literally tip-toeing on the verge of the orgasm, you are so damn close, yet Tony doesn't push you over it, doesn't allow you to come. Instead, he keeps an even pace and chit-chats with his science bro. Having been put off earlier today, your anger comes flashing back in front of your eyes like a red cape before the eyes of a bull. In a last attempt to coax him to make you come, you clench your walls around Stark's fingers. The reaction? A sideway glance! 'How dare he!' your mental screech would have resonated in the lab wasn't it for the audience it would have attracted.

"Bruce! Let him slump! I have work to do, so unless you two want to get close and personal somewhere else, I suggest you cut this short." mentally applauding yourself for not even flinching when Anthony's fingers flexed in you, and for your voice's stable tone, you grit your teeth seconds later when your womanhood gets that additional digit.

"Oh! Y/N! I didn't realise you were there as well! I'll leave you two to work." without further ado, the retreating steps of the doctor echo in the corridor.

"That was rude." obviously having a strange feeling of superiority after getting your perfect façade to crack, the male gives you a beaming smile.

"You have no idea what I'll do to you, _Anthony_ , as soon as I get free from the hold of the suit." Intentionally emphasizing his name at the same time as you clench your walls around his fingers, you finally get the almighty Tony Stark to crack.

And oh, how deliciously pleasant it feels when his lips find yours and capture them with a groan while he fingers you to your orgasm. As soon as the pressure in you reaches drastic levels, he pulls away completely – lips, hand, everything, making you literally cuss at him. The words slip past your lips like water through a broken dam until he roughly opens your legs, pulls you closer to the edge of the desk and buries his face against your heated centre. Then instead of vulgar language, moans slip past your parted lips as his tongue, which seconds ago was battling yours for dominance, now shamelessly ravages your womanhood.

His hands guide your legs so that they are bending at the knees and your soles can rest on his shoulders; despite the uncomfortable feeling due to the angle, you press your ankles together around Tony's head as his tongue slips into your heat and greedily licking your juices.

"Fuck! Yes! ….God, YES!" panting, you claw at the desk in desperate attempt to get hold of something solid, as the feeling of losing your ground washes over. "Yes… Anthony, please!"

His hands tighten their grip around your thighs, keeping you flush against him. For a second you wonder why he'd think you'd move away since you are so close to the needed release. Seconds later you get your answer. His mouth moves from your slit to that sensitive bundle of nerves, giving it a good, hard suck. No longer caring if someone heard or came, you throw your head back and moan, your pelvis buckling. Yet maintaining the same iron hold as his suit, Tony keeps on teasing the sensitive bud until you feel tears brim your eyes all over again.

Panting, covered in thin layer of sweat and shaking inconsolably, you can swear your sanity is getting demolished steadily by this man.

Returning to his previous place, Tony pays more attention to your pulsating sex, as if feeling how painful it is for you to be this empty. The moment his tongue enters you, your walls buckle in, wanting more. And he provides it. Wholeheartedly.

Moments later you come with a bit back moan that rumbles in your chest, shaking uncontrollably and literally seeing shooting stars behind your closed lids. Tony's tongue still licks you, now more than ever, as 'the sweet juice of heaven' as he called it earlier today seeps from you. If his satisfied and hungry groan is anything to go by, he enjoys his meal. Licking each and every centimetre of your sensitive glistering skin, he helps you ride off your orgasm.

Eventually he signals for the Iron Man suit to release you and return to its corner. Flopping on your elbows, panting, shaking but blissfully satisfied and happy, you purr as soon as Tony's lips leave a path of sloppy kisses up around your exposed navel.

"I told your you'd enjoy it." his smug grin and the victorious tune in his voice get you to lift your head and open your eyes.

True to the expectations, he looks extremely proud of himself. Chuckling, you raise a hand and run it through his hair.

"Anthony…" whispering his name in hopes of stopping any further boosting of his ego, you fail to suppress his urge to show off.

"Anthony…" the sing-song voice falls on deaf man's ears as the philanthropist keeps on praising himself.

Rolling your eyes and shaking your head, you decide to treat the situation differently.

" _Anthony_ …" the seductive, slightly slutty, but all the more sexy voice does the trick.

Stark's hungry with lust eyes are glued to you, his mouth is shut and the smug smile is replaced with a playful smirk. Grabbing a fistful of his hair you tug him upwards and kiss him. The peck is short and sugary, yet enough for you to hook one leg around his middle and take a better hold of his hair.

"Y/N… this is a lab and I do not promise I'll respect the sanity regulations if you-" his husky voice comes short when you tug at his hair slightly rougher and capture his lips in a searing kiss.

Once some space is placed between you in favour of oxygen, you notice the same mischievous smirk you had been witnessing the whole afternoon, grace his face; it means there's another awful pick-up line on the way. Acting faster than him, you tug at his hair, angle his head and let your breath ghost over his lips as your eyes stay glued to his.

"I love you, Anthony, but if you say one more of those awful collocations, I'll cut off that skilful tongue of yours and feed it to you."

The gleam dies out, shifted by pure, unmasked lust. The next thing you know, he's carrying you through the corridors exceptionally fast, heading to your shared room ,where he intends to show you just how skilful said muscle, and another one for that matter, can get.


End file.
